Drowning
by i luv ewansmile
Summary: With no memory of how he came to be laying in a pool of his own blood, Michael Westen wonders if he's finally running out of luck or if he's just slipping.  Hurt!Michael. Michael/Fiona.
1. Chapter 1

**_Drowning_**

**i luv ewansmile**

**Summary: **With no memory of how he came to be laying in a pool of his own blood, Michael Westen wonders if he's finally running out of luck or if he's just slipping. Hurt!Michael.

**Disclaimer: **Sadly I do not own Burn Notice. This is just for fun not for profit. I promise to put them back when I'm done playing with them.

* * *

It's a beautiful day in Miami, the sun is shining bright, except that it's night and the rain is pouring down.

The motion picture of time is currently blurred for Michael Westen. His vision swims in and out of focus. _Stop the world, I wanna get off_. Blinking his eyes shut against the headache he wills himself to focus on the pain and remain conscious for longer than a few seconds.

His stomach clinches and he slowly rolls onto his side before being violently sick. The sound of vomit splattering onto the pavement temporary drives out the sound of the rain in his ears.

The rain gently washes his face, replacing the tears there. He spits and catches his breath before huffing bitterly at the ache and soreness in his side. A sharp pain as he inhales causes him to grimace. He places a tentative hand to the area and is shocked by the liquid warmth that greets his fingers.

Feeling the ground next to him he realizes he's lying in a pool of his own blood or maybe it's the rain water pooling around him. But why is it sticking to his fingers? _Crap, how long have I been out?_

Lying still he concentrates on his breathing while identifying what parts of his body hurt the most, starting with the pounding in his head working down to the stiffness in his legs.

It's dark out. And it's cold. No not the rain, nor the breeze. He's cold. Michael. Blood loss will do that for you.

"Michael!" She screams as she falls to her knees, hands coming to rest upon his face.

He groans at the shout of his name so close to his face. _I didn't hear her coming._

"Michael! Michael, open your eyes, stay awake!"

Madeline is greeted with a raspy reply of, "Mom?" _Is that my voice? Why is my mom here?_

"Yes honey, it's me. You're going to be okay. You're going to be okay." The mantra is not reassuring to Michael, he could always tell when she was lying. And right now it sounded more like she was trying to lie to herself rather than comfort her son.

"Michael, what happened?" She begs as she frantically tries to staunch the flow of blood from his side.

"I…" He grunts as she loosens his belt and refastens it around the wound, effectively keeping pressure on the wound.

Visions past through his mind as he tries to piece together his memories of the day. Imagines flash through his mind but he's unable to make the connections.

"I don't know," he breathes, eyes slowing focusing in on her face, "Ma?"

"Yes, Michael it's me," she says, grasping his numb hands.

"Ma, why are you here?" He asks, pulling his hands out of hers, he gently eases himself up into a sitting position one hand coming to his head as he feels like he's about to faint.

"You don't remember?" Madeline asks concerned.

"Remember what Ma?" He asks voice fading to a whisper, blinking his eyes trying to shield them from the harsh lights of his mother's car.

"You were supposed to have dinner with me tonight," her tone of voice almost sounds accusing, then turns to worry, "You called to tell me you would be late. You sounded upset so I decided to bring dinner to you."

At the mention of his mother's food he dry heaves then manages to ask, "How long ago was that?"

"A little over an hour ago," she seems slightly embarrassed, "I might have burnt the meatloaf and had to stop and get take out. I hope you still like Thai."

Madeline sees the blank stare in her son's face and leans over him, grabbing his face in her hands, slicking his wet hair back in the process.

He flinches as her touch stings the wound behind his left ear.

She pulls her hand away, "Oh, I'm sorry!"

He seems to come out of the daze, his eyes focusing on his mother's face.

"Ma, I don't feel so good," and his body goes slack in her arms.


	2. Chapter 2

_"Ma, I don't feel so good," and his body goes slack in her arms._

She screams, "Michael!"

Panicking Madeline quickly checks for a pulse. Finding one she is relieved. She gently lays him down. His eyes flutter open when he comes in contact with the cold, wet ground.

"I'll be right back," she promises. His eyes flutter shut and she hurries back to her car.

She dials the first person she can think of.

It rings once, twice, "Damn it Sam answer your phone!"

It rings one more time before it goes to voicemail, "You've reached Sam, you know what to do." It beeps, "Sam, it's Maddy, I'm at Michael's. He's hurt. He's hurt bad! I need your help!"

She shuts her phone ending the call then reopens it to dial 911 when it starts ringing.

"Oh, thank God!" She yells in greeting.

"What's wrong Maddy? I just did miss your call," Sam replies instantly alarmed at Madeline's ragged breathing on the other end of the line.

"I don't know! I found him at the bottom of the steps, he's covered in blood, and I don't know what to do!"

"Maddy! Maddy, slow down! I can barely hear you over the rain! You found who?" Sam asks confused.

"Michael! My son!" Madeline shouts into her cell phone.

It takes Sam a split second to comprehend what Madeline is telling him before it sinks he and he is able to ask, "Is he alive? Is he breathing? Where's he hurt?" Sam asks, his chest tightening in anticipation.

"Yes! I think so! He's bleeding from his side. I put his belt over the area. He was able to talk to me then he passed out." She's frantic. Sam's momentarily relieved by the answer.

"Are you at the loft?" Sam asks, already packing a gym bag of supplies and heading to his car.

"Yes!" Madeline replies.

"I'm on my way, call Fi," Sam orders sliding into his vehicle starting the engine.

"I will, once I call for an ambulance," Madeline reasons as she stares through the rain and windshield wiper blades watching as her son slowly writhes on the ground.

"No! You can't! He can't go to the hospital!" Sam adamantly argues.

"Why not Sam, he's in pain! He's injured!" Madeline is getting even more upset, feeling overwhelmed by the situation.

"It'll raise too many questions," Sam replies somberly understanding Maddy's unease.

"Oh, that's right, my son, the ex-spy! What's going on Sam? What has my son been up to?" She's angry now gripping her phone in a vice, "What am I supposed to do, just sit around and watch him die?"

"No. Stay with him, I'll be there soon!" Sam ignores her earlier questions and is hoping she is exaggerating on Michael's condition.

"Hurry Sam!" Madeline urges.

"I'm on the way! I'll be there as soon I can!" Sam reassures her.

She slams her phone shut ending the call. She immediately reopens it and calls Fiona. Fiona answers after the first ring.

"Hello Madeline," Fiona greets with no emotion in her voice, Madeline doesn't seem to catch the difference between Fi's usual greeting and this one.

"Fiona!" She cries desperately.

"What is it?' Fiona asks startled, instantly feeling sick with dread. _She knows._

"You need to come quick. I'm at Michael's." Madeline looks back over at Michael willing him to be okay when she notices that he has now completely stopped moving.

"I don't think that's a good idea, we had a little _argument t_oday," Fiona replies, not willing to say more realizing Madeline probably doesn't know what's going on and that she's just paranoid. _Michael wouldn't tell her, would he?_

Madeline finally catches on to the tone of Fiona's voice, it was filled with disdain, anger, and yet a bitter sadness, "Fi what did you do to him?"

"Nothing!" She shouts. "He seemed _okay_ when I left him." Fiona gets defensive, "Why don't you ask him what _he's _done?"

"I can't! He's _unconscious_! He's hurt Fiona, I don't know if he's going to make it!" Madeline is near hysterical, yelling into the phone.

"What do you mean you don't know if he's going to make it? What the hell are you talking about?" Fiona starts out shouting but her voice comes down to a whisper.

"You need to get over here now!" Madeline leaves no room for argument.

Madeline doesn't know what in the hell is going on but she knows Fiona has something to do with. But she also knows that Sam and Fiona are the only ones that can help her help her son.

Fiona paces in her living room and bumps into the furniture, "Damn it!" she yells in frustration. She can not in good conscious stay a moment longer. She grabs her car keys and gets into her car frustrated at herself and slams the door.

The sound of the wiper blades squeaking coupled with the pounding of the rain on the windshield makes Fiona tenser as her emotions are already running high. She cries out in emotional pain as she finally lets herself breakdown, tears rolling down her face as the weight of her, their situation comes down upon her.

"Damn you Michael Westen, you couldn't have just let me leave in peace! Haven't you done enough?" She sobs, banging her hands on the steering wheel right as she hits a wet spot on the road.

The car hydroplanes, and as the car whips around she thinks, '_This is it, this is how I'm going to die, in a fucking car accident! I'm not ready to die! Not like this! Not now! Not with-'_


	3. Chapter 3

_The car hydroplanes, and as the car whips around she thinks, 'This is it, this is how I'm going to die, in a fucking car accident! I'm not ready to die! Not like this! Not now! Not with-'_

The car comes to a halt and Fiona can hear her own breathing as she hyperventilates. Her chin trembles and her hands shake as she looks around her. She takes in a deep breath trying to calm her nerves finally realizing she's alive, safe, and unharmed.

"Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you," she chants wrapping her arms protectively around herself. Palming her face dry with her hands she collects herself. She gently shifts the car into reverse and backs up before sliding the car into drive and slowly continues on her way to Michael's loft.

* * *

"Michael… Michael you need to wake up. Please Michael wake up for mom," Madeline pleads as she sits on the grown, pulling her grown son against her body, gently rocking him while trying to keep him warm.

The rain has finally stopped and steam rises off the cold pavement as the air continues to warm after the chilling rain shower.

Madeline's wet clothes cling to her, chilling her skin but Michael is the one who is shivering, well not exactly shivering. His body jerks slightly before resolving into a slight tremble before settling into a passed out calm.

Sam is the first to arrive. He parks and walks through the gate seeing Madeline's car still running, the car's headlights illuminating both her and Michael.

"Madeline, where's the Charger?" Sam asks curious while careful to avoid what looks to be vomit and blood as he bends down onto his knees, dropping his bag so he can lay his hands on Michael.

"I don't' know," she says looking around, realizing for the first time that Michael's car isn't there.

Sam gently eases Michael out of Madeline's arms. "His head's been bleeding," Sam says out loud as he notices the stains on Madeline's blouse.

"Mikey? Mikey it's me Sam," Sam says, looking for a response from Michael.

Michael grimaces as Sam shifts him to a laying position on the ground.

"Wake up and tell me what happened Mike." Sam pleads as his hand grasps Michael's wrist feeling the weak but steady pulse under his fingers. Michael doesn't reply, doesn't even open his eyes.

Sam grabs him by the shoulders and shakes him, "Wake up Mike!" Michael groans, but it's not the response Sam had been hopefully for.

Sam glances up at Madeline, "How long has he been like this?"

"The past couple of minutes. He was able to talk to me earlier before I called you. But now he won't wake up Sam."

"Okay," Sam breathes as he inspects Madeline's handiwork, "You did the right thing. I'll take a closer look when we get him inside," he tells her as he checks the chest wound for bleeding.

Sam hesitates for a brief second then-

_Thwack!_

The sound of his slap across Michael's cheek surprises Madeline. But it doesn't surprise anyone as much as it does Michael Westen whose eyes snap open instantly, wide like a frightened animal's. Fear laced with pain mires his features. The look sends a chill through Sam's soul.

"Hey, sorry, its okay, you're okay," Sam states calmly, trying to sound soothing but failing miserably.

"We're going to get you inside. Can you tell me what hurts?" Sam asks staring into Michael's eyes finally having him conscious enough to talk to him.

Michael blinks, rolling his head from side to side.

"Come on, concentrate," Sam urges, placing his hands on Michael's face, stopping him from moving, making him focus on himself.

"Mmph… m'ah head hurts… and m'ah side…" Michael finally groans out, words slurred.

"Alright, can you walk?" Sam asks as he gets up onto his feet pulling Michael up with him. Michael inhales sharply as his world spins from the pain and he feels himself slipping downward only to be caught and supported by Sam's strong arms.

"Alright, easy there," Sam says in warning.

"Grab my bag, turn off your car and open the door for me," Sam yells over to Madeline.

"Michael, you're getting too big to be carried," Sam says jokingly, but he says it so softly he wonders if Michael heard him.

Sam slides his arm around Michael's back, and the other under the back of his knees, lifting gently. He staggers at first then steadies himself and carefully makes his way up the steps to the loft, with Michael lying against his chest, safe for the moment in his arms.

Michael's eyes slide shut and he remains eerily quiet during the few moments it takes Sam to cautiously walk up the stairs. Sam's nearly to the last couple of steps when the lines on Michael's brow bunch in confusion and a tentative childlike voice asks in confusion, "Dad?"

Sam stops mid-step and nearly slips on the slick metal steps, startled by the simple question.

"No, Mikey, it's me Sam," he gently corrects.

Michael doesn't seem to hear him, much less understand him but turns his head into Sam's chest and mumbles words that will haunt Sam for several nights, "_M'sorry, about the car… I'll fix it, I swear... Please don't be angry-_"

A lump forms in Sam's throat as emotion over takes him, he's barely able to get the words out, "It's okay, _I forgive you_," Sam whispers softly against Michael's temple.

Sam watches as Michael's lips tremble between a sad smile and the trembling of a child who's tiring hard to hold back tears.

Madeline stands at the top of the platform, holding the door open for Sam to walk through with Michael. Her expression remains blank but it's the way her eyes meet Sam's which lets him know she knows and for a brief second Sam hates her for it. Sam hates that his friend that he loves like a brother… _loves like a son, _was raised by a man who treated his son like he was worthless, abusing him verbally and physically caring more for booze and his car than his own family.

Madeline turns on the lamp, lighting the dark loft as Sam carefully lays Michael down on his bed.

At that moment the loft door creaks open and both Sam and Madeline whip around to face the intruder.


	4. Chapter 4

_At that moment the loft door creaks open and both Sam and Madeline whip around to face the intruder._

Sam breathes a sigh of relief while Madeline complains "What took you so long?" as Fiona walks in, not replying but closing the door instead.

"And what's going on with you and Michael?" Madeline questions, still feeling frustrated about the whole situation and about being left in the dark on matters that concerned her son.

"Can we not talk about that right now," Fiona pleads with an edge to her voice making it a statement not a question although her voice shakes.

Madeline stops her interrogation as she sees Fiona's tear stained face and puffy eyes.

"Oh, Fiona, what's going on?" Madeline asks, suddenly sympathetic.

Fiona gets angry with herself as her body betrays her, letting tears leak down her face which she wipes at roughly. Madeline closes the space between them quickly and wraps Fiona in an embrace that conveys a message only the female population can comprehend.

Madeline whispers to her, "I'm glad you're here."

Fiona closes her eyes for a second, blinking the tears away and whispers, "Thank you," to Madeline. In that moment she longs for her own mother's arms to be comforting her but it's just another bitter reminder of all she's given up and so she pulls away and finally notices the dampness that transferred from Madeline to her, "You're all wet," she notices.

Madeline gives a small smile and asks, "Yeah, and what's your excuse?" Madeline counters looking at Fiona's wet face.

"I.. Um.. I hydroplaned on the way over here-" Fiona stops in the middle of her explanation as she hears Michael's sharp intake of breath, "-but I'm alright. What happened to_ him_?"

"Oh my, I'm glad you're alright," Madeline tells Fiona, genuinely concerned.

Fiona and Madeline walk over to where Sam has stripped Michael of his shirt, shoes and pants and is currently packing gauze against his chest wound. As soon as Sam had laid Michael on the bed he was making a mess on the bed spread. Now with the sheets tucked around him, the fabric is now stained a vibrant crimson.

"He appears to have a head wound leaving him with a pretty nasty concussion which is why he's so out of it and this…" Sam trails off.

As Fiona gets close enough to see, Sam peels back the gauze revealing the wound to her.

"He's been stabbed?" Fiona asks, shocked at the six inch gash along the left side of Michael's rib cage.

"Sliced would be more precise," Sam replies. "Help me clean it up," he requests.

"I'll get a bowl of hot water," Madeline replies and steps into the tiny kitchen area and pauses.

"Top cabinet on the right," Fiona replies, sensing Madeline's confusion, and answering her unspoken question.

"Get some towels, dry him off, make him warm," Sam requests of Fiona, "Oh and Fi, grab Mike's medical supply bag too, we're going to need to suture this," Sam states as he rambles one handedly through his own bag realizing that he was sorely low on things they would need, while with the other hand he holds pressure to the wound.

Fiona takes several minutes but returns with a stack of dry warm towels and hands Madeline several. Madeline feels the warmth from the towels and Fiona explains to her, "I put the towels in the dryer to warm them."

"Good idea," Madeline states, surprised by the kind action. She pulls back the covers and drapes the warm towels across her son.

"Ugh, he smells like vomit," Fiona complains as she runs a warm washcloth across his face. She dips the cloth into the hot water and squeezes it out over Michael's dark hair. He recoils as the water stings the abrasion above his ear.

Fiona feels bad for hurting him but covers this response with a biting remark, "Oh, don't be such a baby Michael," she mocks and moves onto his cleaning his chest.

Running her fingers across his skin Fiona becomes concerned, "He's really cold," Fiona tells Sam.

"Yeah, well, blood loss will do that to you," Sam replies with the simple answer.

"Lying in the rain for an hour didn't help much either," Madeline adds in.

"He'll be alright once we get this bleeding to stop and we get some warm fluids into him," Sam reassures them.

"I've seen these kinds of wounds before in combat. It's the head wound that I'd be most concerned about," Sam states in response to Madeline's questioning look.

"Here," Sam hands over a hemostat with a needle and thread to Fiona, the metal gleaming in the lamp light, "You were always better at this than I was, I'm sure Michael would appreciate it."

"Sure," she replies, agreeing with him for once, "Hold his arm back," she says gently. Sam moves Michael's arm above his head and pins it to the bed.

Knowing what is coming next, Sam requests, "Madeline, go on the other side and hold his other arm down please."

"This is going to hurt Michael, you seem to be out of peroxide and this suture kit does not have betadine in it, so here, bite down on this," Fiona tells him as she stuffs a folded clean wet washcloth between his teeth.

Fiona gives Sam and Madeline a look making sure they are ready and proceeds to pour the alcohol on the wound. Michael thrashes against the bed and those holding him down as his chest burns like it is on fire. His cries would pierce the quiet stillness of the night only if he could be heard but the washcloth saving his teeth is also effectively muffling/gagging him.

He begins to hyperventilate in response, breathing excessively through his nose.

"Calm down Mikey. I would give you something for the pain but you're already bleeding pretty badly, I'm afraid the alcohol would only make it worse," Sam reasons but feels like an ass nonetheless for having to make Michael suffer through this. Truth is, alcohol would help with the pain, but Sam is more worried that he would stop breathing, alcohol and concussions are a deadly mixture, respiratory depression is serious business.

Fiona methodically sutures the wound closed as quickly and precisely as she can manage with Michael's agonizing moans making her chest hurt each time she sticks the needle in.

As Sam and Fiona tend to Michael, Madeline makes her way onto the balcony. "I need a cigarette," she tells no one in particular, not being able to stand seeing her son like this.

She nervously taps the pack down before sliding one out and placing it between her lips. She lights up the end and breathes in, sighing. Soft whiffs of smoke trail upward from the burning end of the cigarette as it glows orange in the dark night.

By the time Fiona is finished with the sutures and secures the dressing to the area, Michael is no longer complaining, but passed out and his bodied is now covered in sweat from the exertion and fever that has just begun to set in.

"Let's get him into some fresh clothes and change the bed sheets," Sam suggests and both he and Fiona work quietly as they change the linens.

Fiona is about to put one of Michael's cotton t-shirts on him when Sam shakes Michael.

"Hey, Michael, I know it's hard but I need you to wake, just for a moment so I know you're alright," Sam states loud enough not to be ignored.

Michael swallows dryly and cracks his eyes open.

"Good man," Sam smiles.

"Can you tell me who I am?" Sam asks.

Michael gives him a look that clearly _inquires is that really what you want to know?_

"I know it's a silly question, just answer it," Sam insists.

"Sam," Michael replies, his voice a whisper, before breaking into a cough, his face contorting in pain.

"Good, now can you tell me where you are?" Sam continues.

Michael growls in protest and Sam replies, "Just answer this question and I'll let you go back to sleep."

Michael opens his eyes a bit more and tries to focus on his surroundings, it takes a few seconds but he figures out where he is and tells Sam, "The loft."

"Good. Go back to sleep," Sam whispers and tucks him in.

Fiona raises an eyebrow at the tenderness Sam shows towards the injured man. Sam shrugs, brushing off the inquiry and tells Fiona, "We should wrap his ribs in the morning, he's most likely got a few cracked ribs judging the bruising and how much pain was caused by coughing," and moves to join Madeline on the balcony.

Fiona left alone with Michael takes the moment to study his face. His dark hair makes his face seem even paler and the sheen of sweat makes him look sickly but it was the tenseness of his jaw that tells her in isn't feeling good, the pain from his wounds keeping him from a peaceful slumber.

She turns to leave when he calls out to her, "Fi?"

She knows he's not fully awake and that she can make a run for it if she wanted to, that no one would ever have to know. But it's the word that comes out of his mouth that makes her stay, "_Please_, Fi." He says it with such softness and unsheltered need that she takes a step closer against her better judgment and she grasps his hand in her own.

"I'm here Michael. _Sleep_," she whispers and sits beside him as he finally relaxes into deep sleep, a ghost of a smile upon his face.


	5. Chapter 5

"_I'm here Michael. Sleep," she whispers and sits beside him as he finally relaxes into deep sleep, a ghost of a smile upon his face._

As sleep tries to pull him under, tiny flashes of the day's events play out in his mind. He struggles to stay awake and make sense of them.

He twitches awake from his uneasy sleep and lays there still with his eyes closed remembering, finally piecing together the flashes of memory from earlier in the day.

"_Hey Fi," he answers in greeting._

"_Hello Michael." _

_He immediately picks up on the tense way she says his name._

"_What is it Fi?" He asks softly trying to ease her anxiety. _

"_I need to talk to you," she whispers._

"_Come by the loft." _

"_No. Meet me at Carlito's." _

"_I'll be there."_

_It's too late for lunch and too early for dinner. Well, unless you're older than 55 or wanting to get your drink on early after a hard day. _

_When he arrives she is alone and abnormally still sitting by herself at a table near the bar, her glass of water untouched. She doesn't play with the straw in her drink, nor does she smile at the passerby who is eyeing her more than Michael preferred. The place is not crowded, very few people there, it being too early for most people to want to eat their evening meal. However, a tall man is already on what appeared to be his second mojito.  
_

_She doesn't even look up at him as he slides down into the seat across from her. She merely acknowledges his presence with a seemingly simple question._

"_What makes you happy Michael?"_

_The question seems out of place, even absurd in the dimly lit bar in the middle of one of the hottest places on earth. People come from all around to enjoy the white sandy beaches, palms lining the shoreline and miles and miles of beautiful people scantily clad. It is simply paradise. But paradise only has its pleasure for a season and Michael can feel the calm chill pass through him before the storm._

_The question throws him, making him uneasy knowing that Fiona doesn't want to hear that eating yoghurt and long walks on the beach make him happy, though he can deliver the line with a grin and a flash of teeth that will appease anyone except maybe those closest to him._

_Instead he leaves her hanging, but it doesn't matter, apparently it is a rhetorical question because she moves onto another as if what he had to say really didn't matter, because this isn't about him, it isn't about Michael Westen anymore, or the burn notice, or what client they would be helping this time, no this is about Fiona, Fiona Glennanne and her life, her._

"_Could you give it all up? Even if it meant giving up all the things that makes you happy? Just for the slightest chance that something else could make you even happier?" She asks, finally looking up at him at the end. She sees the look on his face and she turns away and gives a nervous laugh before wiping at her eye and giving him a fake smile, already knowing that he could see right through it._

"_Fi, you know-"Michael starts to defend himself, knowing it was going to be one of those moments where she tells him that there is life here, a life for the both of them if only he could let it go, she had even told him several times before, 'Let it go Michael!' But he's abruptly interrupted with a furious tongue lashing._

"_Damn it Michael, don't you tell me what I know, because YOU don't know ANYTHING!" Her voice rises to a shrill yell and Michael raises a hand up, waving off the questioning stares from the very few people around them, becoming even more uneasy with the situation. He, well they have never been good at this and this isn't the place to be having this conversation. And then he realizes why she wanted to meet here, in this public place so they couldn't fight, he thinks to himself, well so much for that idea. _

"_Can you keep it down? Just a little Fi," Michael pleads, knowing already that this is a losing battle, knowing the fuse is already lit and it's only a matter of seconds before it blows up in his face. _

"_Keep it down? Keep it down?" She pushes violently up and away from the table, her chair falling backward. _

_Michael calmly stands up, knowing he needs to quickly diffuse the situation before things get even more out of hand._

_He grabs her tightly by the elbow, forcibly leading her towards the Charger and she shrieks, "Get your hands off of me!"_

_The large man from the bar steps in front of him, effectively blocking his path. _

_Michael smoothly tells him, "This doesn't concern you, step aside."_

_The man's reply is a left hook to Michael's face. His head snaps back, and he lets loose of his grip on Fiona and he falls backward, the side of his head colliding with the bar rail. _

_Fiona cries out in shock before rushing to his side. _

"_Are you okay?"She whispers._

_Michael ignores her, disoriented and eases himself up into a sitting position with one hand. As Fiona tries to help him to his feet he shakes her off roughly, slowly making it back to his feet on his own. _

"_Fine then. I can't do this anymore. I'm not doing this anymore. I won't. Goodbye Michael," she tells him walking her way through the bar. The patrons seeing her as the innocent victim in this scene let her go with ease and without question._

_Michael doesn't have time to stop her or even call out to her, his vision swims as he finally makes it upright. _


	6. Chapter 6

_Michael doesn't have time to stop her or even call out to her, his vision swims as he finally makes it upright. _

_Fiona's cell phone rings and she is about to hit the ignore button on her phone again like she did the other times Michael has called since she left him at the Carlito, although it's been several minutes since his last attempt at reaching her._

_She sighs in frustration until she checks it and sees that it's a different number that is popping up on her screen. She studies it for a moment before realizing it's the number to Carlito's and frustrated she answers it only so she can tell Michael how stupid he is, sarcastically greeting, "How clever Michael, using the bar's phone to call me. Did you really not think that I would still know that it's you?"_

"_M'am I'm not Michael. But if he's still someone you care about I suggest coming by and picking him up. If it weren't for Sam and you guys being regulars I would have called the cops by now," the bartender's unspoken threat is clearly heard by Fiona so she replies, "Fine."_

* * *

Michael remembers why the guy wouldn't let him leave by himself and why he insisted on calling Fiona himself after she wouldn't take his calls.

He slowly moves his hand under the covers to finger the bandage now covering the wound he received in his latest bar fight.

He remembers making it to his feet. He remembers being seemingly steady but having double vision, a lovely side effect of having smacked the back of his head into the bar counter.

_He can make out the face of the man well enough to take a swing of his own. But the man is quick and blocks the shot, using Michael's momentum against him and wrapping him in a choke hold._

_Michael fights back, kicking his legs, stomping on the man's feet, jabbing his elbows into the man's ribs before finally giving up and switching his tactic. He swings his legs out and catches the bar pushing against it, he manages to topple both of them to the floor, taking out a table in the process, drink and food go flying to the floor._

_It stuns the man just long enough for Michael to break lose, gasping for air, his throat sore from it being nearly crushed. _

_But before Michael can get a step further the man is up on his feet again, this time a cracked beer bottle in his hand. _

_Michael's vision has black spots floating here and there and he sways slightly, the man seizes the opportunity and makes his move._

_Michael's reaction is slow as he defends himself, the shard of glass catches him in the side. He closes his eyes for a second as he lets out a cry of pain, right then he hears the distinct sound of a gun being cocked and he knows he's in trouble._

_The burn in his side is intense but he makes himself focus, blinking his eyes he sees the man is slowly easing off as the bartender waves a pistol in his face._

"_You need to leave. NOW!" The bartender shouts. "Leave now or I'm calling the police!" He yells in a thick Latino accent, and the man finally makes his way out of the place._

_Michael places a hand over the gash in his side and nods his head in thanks to the bartender who has kind fearful eyes._

"_Come on," the middle-aged bartender urges Michael. _

"_I'm fine," Michael waves him off. _

"_Yeah, I can see that," the bartender replies slightly annoyed looking at the mess on the floor._

_He yells at his partner still behind the bar giving him the gun to put back in its place behind the counter and tells him to clean up the mess._

"_You didn't need to do that," Michael tells the man softly nodding his head towards the pistol now hidden under the bar._

"_Are you kidding, you were up against a giant! It was like I was watching David fight Goliath," Michael smirks at the Bible reference remembering the one time his mother read the story to him._

"_Yeah, but David won in the end," Michael reminds him._

_The bartender shrugs his shoulder before running his hand over the bar counter, "Dang man, __you put a dent in the wood, you must have one hard head... or a cracked one!"_

"_Come on," he says, grabbing Michael's blazer for him off his chair and tries to lead him back behind the bar toward the storage room._

_Michael hesitates, but reluctantly follows the man as the liquid seeping through his fingers and the obvious growing blood stain on his shirt makes him weary of walking out to his car. He doesn't need any more attention or trouble from suspicious cops or curious onlookers. _

_Finding a chair being pushed at him Michael sits down and leans over. Feeling worse he straightens up, leans his head back against the cool wall and closes his eyes._

_The bartender studies him before letting his opinion be known, "He knocked you around pretty good," he says with a small chuckle._

_Michael grins in reply but doesn't open his eyes. The adrenaline from the fight begins to wear off and the agony in his skull makes it hard for him to concentrate on anything other than breathing._

_The bartender reaches into the cooler and pulls out a beer for himself and for his friend._

_He pops the caps off and pushes one against Michael's hands. His fingers automatically wrap around the cold bottle and he takes a long draw from the bottle. But the bartender doesn't miss the smear of red that appears across the bottle's label from the bloody fingers holding it._

"_Eh, maybe you should call your lady friend, yes?" The man asks with worry seeping through his calm façade. _

_Normally he would resent the insinuation but the throbbing in his head makes it hard for him to come up with an excuse as to why he shouldn't call Fiona. He lets loose of the bottle in his hand and it begins to slide towards the floor before the bartender catches it._

_With one hand pressed to his side, Michael reaches with the other into his pant pocket and pulls out his cell phone. He tries calling her three times before he gives up without leaving a voice message._

_He breathes out, and gives a small grin, "Women." The bartender bobs his head in agreement. _

_Michael finishes off the beer and pushes himself up from the chair. His world tilts and the bartender is quick to stop his descent to the floor._

"_Nice catch," Michael offers as thanks._

"_Plenty of practice," the bartender replies and reluctantly walks him out of the bar at Michael's insistence._


	7. Chapter 7

"_Plenty of practice," the bartender replies and reluctantly walks him out of the bar at Michael's insistence._

_Michael makes it to the Charger by himself. His hand slips as he tries to pry the car door open. He wipes his wet hand on his shirt, the causality of the day, and then manages to open the door. _

_He makes it to the end of the street before he realizes he's left his coat jacket on the back of his chair along with his cell phone. Shit, he thinks to himself as he pulls a u-turn._

_Stumbling out of the Charger Michael goes in search of his missing possessions. _

_Shuffling back into the bar Michael answers the bartender's unspoken question, "I… um…" he puts his hand to head as a sharp pain shoots through it, "I… forgot my…" The bartender pushes him down into the nearest chair, "…phone." Michael finally finishes, managing to get the word out._

"_Your phone is in your pocket," the bartender stares at Michael as if he's lost his mind. Michael looks confused as he slips his hand into his pocket and finds his cell phone there._

"_Maybe I should call your lady friend for you," the bartender suggests not giving Michael an option as he grabs the cell phone out of Michael's limp fingers. The bartender looks at the last number dialed on the phone as he punches the number on the keypad on the phone behind the bar._

_A ladies voice answers on the other end of line. Michael can make out Fiona's rant from where he sits. He smiles before his face slides into a stone mask as the bartender threatens Fiona, "M'am I'm not Michael. But if he's still someone you care about I suggest coming by and picking him up. If it weren't for Sam and you guys being regulars I would have called the cops by now," Michael lets out the breath he's been holding as he hears Fiona as she mutters fine, agreeing to pick him up._

* * *

_As Fiona walks in with a huff, the bartender quickly passes Michael his jacket with a word of advice, "Here, best not to let her see you like this," he waves his hand in Michael's general direction._

_With one hand the bartender helps Michael slip on his coat when Michael's his face clinches into a grimace as he struggles with the simple task. _

_Michael is able to put on a display of being okay while Fiona comes to a halt a few feet in front of Michel taking him in. He gives her a flash of teeth. _

_The bartender steps in between them as Fiona looks as if she could do some damage to Michael and tells her, "He's a bit disoriented."_

"_Yeah, well…" Fiona starts but is interrupted._

"_Fiona, can you just take me home," Michael requests._

"_Whatever," she huffs sliding her sunglasses back into place, already hurrying to her car._

"_Thank you," he whispers to her back and slowly follows behind._

_The car ride to the loft is tense, no words are spoken but the body language is screaming. _

_Fiona is easy to read to Michael as he watches her out of the corner of his eyes. He sees her knuckles are strained white from where she firmly grips the steering wheel. Her mouth is set in a firm line. But Michael can tell she wants to say something but he dares not to start back up what they have not yet truly begun to start. _

_With one arm wrapped protectively across his stomach Michael keeps quite and still, concentrating on clearing his head, he had had a few more beers while waiting for Fiona to arrive._

_Fiona still doesn't know he's been stabbed with the sharp edge of a broken beer bottle and Michael plans to keep it that way. The wound is carefully hid underneath Michael's blazer. He keeps a hand firmly pressed to it, his arm cradling his chest. Fiona doesn't know he's bleeding and assumes he has a few bruised ribs. _

_The cold shoulder gets to him and Michael takes his chances and dares to break the silence. Leaning forward he makes a scene of looking out the windshield at the darkening sky, "Looks like it's going to rain."_

_She doesn't say a word as she brings the car to a screeching halt outside the gate to Michael's loft. Michael braces himself with one hand against the door as the car jerks to a stop._

_Michael turns painfully in the seat so that he's staring at Fiona. __The edges of his vision are a little blurred but he can still make out her beautiful face._

_She takes a deep breath, face straight ahead away from his prying eyes, the eyes she loves with their blue intensity. Her eyes are really not seeing anything in particular as she speaks, "I need to tell you something Michael."_

"_You can tell me anything Fi," he whispers, emphasizing anything. _

_"This life…" Fiona starts, and Michael resists the urge to roll his eyes, but figuring it would hurt too much, he slowly closes his eyes and reopens them, and simply listens, waiting for her to continue, beginning to feel a cold gnawing sense of dread._

_Fiona's throat tightens with emotion and she bites her lip before swallowing hard, "I think it's time for me to move on." She finally turns to look at him._

_Out of all the things he is prepared to hear her say, that was not one of them. For one of those rare moments in his life Michael Westen struggles to formulate a response, the right words seem to escape him like a man running from gun fire. _

___However his body makes up his mind for him. _He feels sick to his stomach and lunges for the door. Leaning out of the car he takes in the cooling air in quick shallow gasps. The sensation dimming, he forces himself to calm down, to breathe through his nose.

_The first rain drops fall slowly to the ground and he's oddly mesmerized as he watches them make contact with the ground._

_He's comes out of his short daydreaming session when the sudden slam of the driver's side door startles him. _

_Before he has time to register the fact that Fiona's hands are on his arm, he's yanked upright and out of the car. _

_For such a small women she sure is strong, which is one of the things that pleases Michael since you wouldn't expect it of her, making her full of surprises. _

_Michael stifles his groan of agony from his sudden change in position by clenching his teeth. _

"_Just get out," Fiona fusses. Michael is about to tell her that he's already out of her car thanks to her but she's already stomping back to her side of the car and getting in._

"_Fiona! Wait!" He yells finally gaining control of his voice, but she pulls the car away hard causing the passenger door to slam shut before driving away leaving him alone, standing in the rain. _

"_Damn it," he mutters in frustration, wondering just what the hell just occurred._

_He shoves his hand into his pocket, and pulls out his phone ready to call Fiona. He takes one look at the time on the screen and realizes the growing lateness of the hour, as if the growing darkness of the coming night wasn't enough._

_Weighing his options, he opts for calling his mother to buy himself some time. Buying him some time to patch himself up and time to then go after Fiona and resolve whatever is going on with her. _

"_Hi, Mom it's me…" He greets his mother on the other end of the line._

"_I was just about to take the meatloaf out of the oven. Are you on your way over?" Madeline questions her son._

"_No, I'm sorry, I'm going to be a little late, well a lot late…" He replies._

"_Michael!" Madeline protests. _

"_Something's come up. I'll call you later," he says hanging up the phone. _

_Madeline knows something is wrong, her boy just willingly offered to call her, something very out of character for her son. Oh, yes, something is definitely bothering him._

_With no one around to hear him, Michael lets out small hisses of pain with each step as he carefully climbs the steps._

_His right hand holds firm to the knife wound in his side as his left braces his body as he leans against the building. _

_Taking in too deep a breath his body locks up as pain flares across his chest. Cracked ribs burn as if set on fire, ignited with the breath he takes._

_He flings out a hand to grasp the railing as he feels like he's about to pass out, light headed from the pain._

_His fingers slip off the rain slicked railing and he can feel his body float for a few seconds before making contact with the steel steps._

_His breath is knocked out of him as his body lands with a soft thud at the bottom of the stair case._

_His body gives up the fight for consciousness as he struggles to breathe and his world quickly fades to black. _


	8. Chapter 8

_His body gives up the fight for consciousness as he struggles to breathe and his world quickly fades to black. _

Feeling safe with the knowledge of the day's events Michael lets himself be pulled under into the darkness of unconsciousness and he's out in seconds.

Madeline stands smoking on the balcony, wrapped in Michael's white terry cloth robe that she had found and is content to be dry and warm finally. Sam keeps her company, being a silent companion.

* * *

While Michael had slept an uneasy sleep, his mother and Sam had enjoyed the Thai takeout she had brought while Fiona had kept watch over him, eating yoghurt for dinner.

The partially empty Thai take out boxes are strewn across the makeshift counter where they had eaten in silence earlier. What events transpired today were off topic, that of which Fiona had made deadly clear with a steely face. Madeline and Sam could wait until the morning and maybe then Michael could join in the conversation that was surely going to take place.

The hours pass quickly.

In the still of the night, Michael's silent cries go unheard because everyone has fallen asleep, worn out from the day's events. Sam is dozing in Michael's favorite green chair beside the bed. Madeline is asleep on the couch up stairs. And Fiona sits on the steps just outside the door staring up at the night sky lazily playing with her hair as her thoughts keep her occupied.

A sense of unease moves through her body and she stands up and quietly walks back in. Sam's snoring seems abnormally loud in the quiet loft. She notices Michael's fingers clenching and unclenching the sheets.

The mattress creaks as she sits down and Sam is awakened with a startle. Fiona whispers, "It's okay, I've got it this time," and Sam tosses in his chair and falls back to sleep instantly.

Fiona watches as Michael simultaneously sweats and shivers under the covers. His face sports a grimace with his mouth open as she watches his silent, breathless cry.

She slides closer to him and places a hand on his shoulder. His movements slow to a slight tremble.

"Michael," she gently whispers. She slips her hand to his cheek and leans closer and whispers his name again inches from his face, "Michael".

His eyes roll backwards in his head before his eyelids part and his glazed over eyes focus, latching onto Fiona's gaze.

"Hey," she whispers before grabbing a pill bottle off the makeshift table beside the bed, shaking out two and feeding them to him before handing him a water bottle and telling him to, "sip," as he greedily chokes down the water.

He swallows the pills and water down but his raw feeling throat clinches and he coughs. His eyes snap close and his face scrunches up in pain.

Fiona acts quickly and grabs the extra pillow beside him and places it firmly against his chest and takes his arms and makes him wrap them around it, effectively helping him splint his bruised and broken ribs.

She rolls him a little roughly onto his right side and tucks the blankets around him.

"Get some rest. Go back to sleep Michael." She urges him.

It takes several minutes but he eventually closes his eyes and relaxes into sleep as the meds kick in.

_Oh, what the hell, _Fiona thinks and carefully eases under the covers on the unoccupied side of the bed, her back towards Michael. She curls into a ball and lays there thinking, wondering how she ever will be able to tell Michael what he's done to her.

* * *

The dawn breaks and the warm Miami sunshine streams into the loft. The gentle breeze blows the palms against the building making a light rattling noise causing the guy in the bed to stir.

Michael stiff and sore, sits up slowly and looks around, the empty Thai boxes along with several empty yoghurt cups and empty beer bottles are scattered across the kitchen area. He glances around at the rest of the place and notices that it's empty, leaving him alone with Fiona.

"Sam and your mother have gone to retrieve your car," Fiona informs him as she continues to sit cross-legged in his favorite green chair taking apart a gun.

Michael eyes the weapon in her hands wearily and instinctively reaches under his pillow where his should have been.

Not taking her eyes off the cold metal in her hands, she casually tells him, "Finders keepers," before grinning at him.

His eyes narrow. "Fiona," he warns.

"Michael." She taunts in a sing-song voice.

The last piece clicks into place and Fiona lowers the gun, leveling it at Michael's lower body before giving him a dry smile, as she flips the safety on and shoves it back under his pillow.

"You should clean that more often. You never know when you're going to need it." She says cryptically before walking off to the tiny bathroom to wash her hands.

"You're still here." He says smiling to himself. "Thanks for staying Fi," Michael whispers knowing she can't hear him but wanting to say it nonetheless.

* * *

Madeline pulls her car up beside the Charger at Carlito's and gasps. "Oh, Sam."

"What?" He questions, leaning over her to get a better look at what she's staring at.

"Look." She gestures at the blood staining the white leather seats in Michael's car. There's blood on the head rest and the seat, blood smeared on the door handle and the steering wheel.

"Jesus, Mikey," Sam whispers under his breath.


	9. Chapter 9

Left alone as Fiona goes to the bathroom to wash her hands, Michael kicks off the bed linens with his feet and lays completely stretched out on the bed staring up at the ceiling.

He yawns and gently stretches, feeling the pull of the stitches holding together the pieces of flesh sliced open by the disgruntled man's beer bottle, he grits his teeth together and continues to stretch more carefully.

He pulls at his cotton t-shirt feeling abnormally warm and realizes he's in desperate need of a shower. He tugs the shirt up one-handedly and flinches when he finally manages to yank it off.

Tossing the sweat dampened shirt onto the floor, he puffs out a sigh and forces himself to sit up and swings his legs over the side of the bed.

He groans as his head begins throbbing. The change in altitude makes him light headed as his blood rushes away from his brain to his feet. He takes a few seconds to collect himself before the need to relieve himself makes him get to his feet and make his way across the loft to the toilet.

Fiona is putting her hair up in a neat ponytail when Michael comes to stand in front of her shirtless. She finishes, her hands coming to rest at her sides as she eyes his battered chest, the bruises seemingly more vivid in the morning light.

Realizing she's been staring, she quickly averts her eyes and side steps around him and out of the bathroom.

He quickly relieves himself and slips out of his pajama bottoms and underwear then takes a step out of the bathroom to retrieve a towel off his makeshift shelf.

"Are you going to take a shower?" Fiona startles him as she comes up behind him with medical tape and a zip-lock bag in her hands.

Snatching the towel off the rack he quickly covers himself. She walks closer to him and places the plastic zip-lock bag over the bandage on his chest and takes his hand in hers and directs it over the plastic.

"Here hold this," she tells him. He does as he's told and she takes her hand away so she can tear off the tape, and use it to seal the edges around the bag.

"There," she says softly, "Now you won't get my handiwork wet and infected," her eyes are gentle as she says it.

He opens his mouth to speak, to say thank you but she cuts him off, sounding irritated, the gentle Fi gone for the moment, "You never did tell me what happened?"

"Shattered beer bottle," he tells her simply, seeing no reason to lie to her and not wanting to fight.

"Couldn't handle yourself in a bar fight? You're getting soft Michael," Fiona taunts.

He scoffs, defending himself, "I had just gotten my head smashed into a bar and _you left me_. It would have been nice of you to stick around."

Fiona's eyes flash in anger at the subtitle accusation, "As I remember you didn't exactly want my help!"

She turns to leaves but he reaches out for her and his fingers graze her arm and it's just enough to make her stop but not enough to make her turn around.

"Fiona. I'm sorry," he genuinely tells her.

"Are your really? Because I don't think you are." She blurts out her emotions getting the better of her.

"Yes, I am," he places his hands on her shoulders and gently turns her around. He lifts her chin up with one finger and gives her a tiny smile that reaches his eyes.

For a moment she's captivated by this Michael Westen who's got a hold on her more than he can imagine, but she snaps herself out of it and pushes herself away from him.

She murmurs softly, "Sam and your Mom will be back any minute now. I need to clean up the mess they made," and walks away.

* * *

The steam from the hot shower cloaks Michael in a comforting warm mist as the hot water gently pounds on his sore body, helping him to feel better.

He steps out of the shower clean and refreshed but feeling weaker and moving slower than when he first woke up.

Physically drained from the small exertion he's relaxed to the point of feeling like he can melt into the floor but the fear of leaving Fiona alone for too long drives him to pick up his pace.

He brushes past Fiona wearing an old comfortable pair of jeans, barefoot and shirtless as he goes in search of food.

Opening the fridge door he shivers as the cool air hits his warm skin, the hairs rising on his arms. He pulls out the last cup of yoghurt thankful they had left it for him this time.

Fiona had made quick work of the trash and was walking a bag full of it out to the dumpster.

Michael holds his breath as he waits for her to return and breathes easy when she walks back in shutting the loft door. He takes a spoonful of yoghurt into his mouth.

Someone has opened the doors to the balcony and Fiona ops for sitting out in the sunshine by herself.

He throws his head back in frustration and earns himself a jolt of pain. "Ow," he lets out softly before scraping the last bit of yoghurt out with his spoon then he tosses the cup in the trash and lays the spoon in the sink.

It's Fiona's turn to be startled but she doesn't jump like she wants to but merely turns her head to the sound as Michael clears his throat, leaning against the balcony door frame, really needing to sit down but not willing to show that weakness.

"Fiona, about yesterday. What you said-" he starts but she cuts him off again.

"I've been a little wired lately… restless," she confesses quickly.

He raises his eyebrow, giving her a look that clearly conveyed, _'You call that restless? I'd hate to see what upset would look like.'_

"Just forget it. You won't understand…" she tells him, before instantly changing her mind.

"Well, I don't know. Maybe you would understand Michael. The restless part anyway. This has been a nightmare for you hasn't it? Being stuck in Miami. Not having missions taking you across the world where no one knows you. Not being able to leave at a moment's notice and fly where ever you wanted. Having to see your family. Spending time with me and Sam doing jobs that are beneath you." She spats jumping to her feet pacing the area between the kitchen and the staircase.

She had been trying to say goodbye for the past two days but she had been hoping she didn't' have to, that he would understand. But she was afraid, terrified even that he didn't love her enough to change his life for her and that hurtful thought makes her even angrier.

Fueled by this anger she continues to fuss at Michael, throwing her arms up in the air in exasperation, angry tears streaming down her face.

He succeeds in ignoring her, blocking out her fuming until all the little things he has ever done to bother Fiona seem to collide.

She blows up before his eyes, her voice raising an octave as she screams in his face, "…Maybe it would be better for you if you did get your job back being a spy! It'll be better for everyone! And maybe then you'd be happy!"

Michael feels his temper rise and he shouts, "Where the hell is this coming from?"

Fiona glares at him as if he should already know before bursting out.

"I'm pregnant!" She screams, devastated, her fists clenched in rage and fear at her sides.

"I'm pregnant," she sobs, repeatedly, shaking her head in astonishment before locking eyes with Michael gauging his reaction, watching as his eyes widen in surprise or is it horror?

Stunned, it feels like someone's knocked the air out of his chest and it takes Michael a while to catch his breath and respond, "Is it mine?"

Fiona, furious that he thinks that there is even a mere possibility of it not being his, insinuating that she sleeps around, she turns as if to walk away before swiveling around and delivering a blow to his face.

The impact of the well placed kick snaps his head back and in the next split second Fiona takes his feet out from under him and he lands face down on the hard wood floor.

Crouched on the floor on all fours Michael slowly looks up at Fiona and makes sure she's watching as he spits out a mouthful of blood out onto the floor.

He stands up, takes a step and stumbles, feeling faint.

"Are you going to pass out?" Fiona asks annoyed, angrily wiping the tears out of her eyes.

"Well I just got a concussion!" He yells, voice rising with each word. He sways a little on his feet, still feeling a little woozy.

"And it's not every day I learn that I'm going to be a father," Michael calms down slightly. Somehow saying the words that he's going to be a father makes it more real to him.

"I'm going to be a father," he repeats the words again more softly.

"Yeah, well, don't get too excited," Fiona breaks his moment.

He locks eyes with her, "Fiona… what exactly are you planning on doing?" He pleads for clarification, carefully taking a step closer to her.

"I don't know okay!" She cries, upset, "Just give me some space," she tells him, stepping back out of his reach and she watches the hurt look appear upon his face, "Just give me some time," she whispers.

She moves faster than Michael thought possible as she flings the loft door open and glides down the steps without a single glance back.

What she has said slowly sinks in as he wipes away the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand.

He lets out a light painful laugh, almost a cry that turns into a coughing fit, brining tears to his eyes, before sobering up and burying his head in his hands, as he knows his life is about to change.


	10. Chapter 10

"Whoa," Sam says startled, throwing his arms out, snatching Fiona as she practically runs into his arms at the bottom of the steps.

"Let go of me Sam!" She yells against her captive. Sam catches her wrists as she weakly attempts to pound against his chest.

"Easy there sister, what's got you so worked up?" Sam tries to smooth things over seeing the track of tears on her face.

When she doesn't answer him Sam tells her, "I've seen the luggage packed in your car. Planning on going somewhere?" Fiona ceases fighting as Sam continues to whisper into her ear, "I don't think it's the right time to be making any rash decisions," he chides her.

Fiona remains silent not denying anything before spiting the words out, "Stay out of this Sam, it's none of your business."

Sam releases her just as Madeline comes to stand behind her, blocking her path holding grocery bags in each hand, with a freshly lit cigarette threatening to fall from her lips as she speaks, "Fiona, I think it's time we talked."

"I'm done talking Madeline," Fiona says nearly choking on the words, pushing past them both.

She gets into her car, places the key in the ignition and turns it.

A dull click is heard but the car does not start. She tries it again but still nothing. She bangs her arms in anger on the steering wheel before figuring out what's going on.

"Sam!" She growls in warning as she stomps out of the car and back over to where Sam stands holding an important piece of her car.

She reaches to snatch the part out of his hand but he jerks it away, "Ah! Not until we all have a talk," he tells her and gestures for her to lead the way back up the stairs.

Sam watches as Madeline goes in first, followed by a sullen Fiona. He quickly retrieves the last of the bags out of the Charger and follows behind them.

* * *

Michael shuffles into the tiny loft bathroom, buries his face into the towel he left on the shower rod to dry and groans.

He rubs his hand across his face as he hears footsteps coming up the steps outside. He leans out of the bathroom and sees that it's his mother walking in carrying several grocery bags.

He pivots quickly back into the bathroom. He doesn't hear the loft door close so it must have been left open and this is confirmed when he hears a second set footsteps. His brow scrunches in confusion as he doesn't hear his named called or curious eyes looking for him but he slides down to sit at what he does hear.

"Were you really just going to up and leave without telling any of us?" Madeline asks Fiona as she throws the bags across the counter, looking as hurt as she sounded.

Sam is the last to step into the loft. He lays the last of the groceries on the counter and tosses the keys to the Charger down beside them. He pulls out a couple rolls of ace bandages, gauze, tape and a blue Gatorade. As Madeline questions Fiona, he looks around for Michael and goes to search the only place he could be hiding.

His mind goes on high alert as he sees blood on the floor. He carefully glances into the tiny bathroom and surveys the man sitting on the rim of the tub with his back leaning against the wall.

Michael opens his eyes and lets his head loll to the side giving Sam an unguarded view into the event that just occurred.

Seeing the fresh injuries, he quickly deduces that the damage done to Michael's face was by Fiona. Sam asks, "Do I need to call in a case of spouse abuse to my FBI buddies? I will Mikey if I have to," Sam half-way teases, half-way serious as he hands the blue Gatorade to Michael.

Unscrewing the top of the bottle, Michael gives him a bloody toothy grin and Sam grimaces in sympathy.

"I didn't think she could kick that high," Michael tells him, then takes a sip from the drink. The metallic taste of blood goes down easy with the sweet concoction. The cold drink feels good to his sore throat and he can feel it hit his nearly empty stomach, the one cup of yoghurt just not doing it for him.

"So what's the reason for the start of world war three?" Sam questions him and watches as Michael's face clouds over with a serious expression.

"I'm going to be a father Sam," Michael tells him with a small smile on his face but his eyes betray the fear that comes along with the admission.

"Whoa," Sam reels in shock.

"You and Fi?" Sam stutters. The look on his face almost comical before it becomes pensive.

"Yeah," Michael murmurs.

"Parents?" Sam asks still dumbfounded, finding it hard to believe what he's hearing.

"Yeah," Michael replies flatly.

The moment sinks in and Sam lets out a short laugh.

Michael gives him a questioning look.

"Can you imagine? A kid that's half yours and half Fiona's. It's like mixing fire and gasoline. It's a scary thought!" Sam says, his face lighting up. His grin is plastered on his face as he shakes his head, understanding the trouble Michael has gotten himself into.

"Sam," Michael warns, giving him a look before whispering to himself, "What are we going to do?"

Sam's joking smile fades and his brown eyes seem to betray him as easily as Michael's, they look deep with worry. He slowly pulls from his pocket the spark plugs to Fiona's car and flashes them at Michael before explaining.

"She's planning on leaving, for good. Her car's packed and she looks ready to skip town. Your mom's talking to her right now. But I guess you already know that," Sam finishes as he overhears Madeline's and Fiona's conversation.

"I'm not ready for this. I'm not sure I can do this." Fiona sits on Michael's bed across from his mother. She looks so miserable Madeline doesn't know what to say or do so she lights up another cigarette then carefully wraps her arm around Fiona.

"We have ourselves a situation here brother," Sam says and claps Michael on the back hard, earning himself a glare from the daddy-to-be.

"First, things first. We've got to get you well enough for battle." Sam peels back the tape and gauze. Michael hisses but let's Sam change the dressing, cover the stitches with ointment and tape down a fresh piece of gauze.

Michael sits patiently slowly drinking the Gatorade as Sam opens the ace bandages and quietly and efficiently wraps them around his chest, not too tight, not too loose, just enough to provide support and maybe ease some of the pain of having a few cracked ribs.

Michael takes a few tentative deep breathes before breathing out a sigh when nothing hurt too bad, "Thanks."

"No problem," Sam replies, and hands him a black t-shirt. Michael pulls it over his head, stands up and stops.

"You can do this," Sam assures him and pushes him out of the bathroom.


	11. Chapter 11

_"You can do this," Sam assures him and pushes him out of the bathroom._

"I don't know if I can handle being a mother," Fiona cries her voice hitching.

Surprised Madeline shouts, "What?" The cigarette flies from her mouth and lands on the bed comforter. A small flame ignites almost instantly.

Michael halts, finding the sight before him alarming and he doesn't know whether to run to them or away from them. He's almost made up his mind to sprint in the opposite direction when Sam's presence coming up behind him pushes him forward.

Fiona babbles on, spilling her heart out to Madeline, oblivious to the woman's stunned gawking, "I don't know if I can do this! I'm not ready for this! I can't do this!"

Madeline lips part in astonishment before she's able to take control of the situation. She pulls Fiona tight against her side, shushing her.

"Shh, it's going to be alright. It'll be alright." She tells her while her own mind races.

"He doesn't even believe that it's his child. I mean, who else's would it be? What if he doesn't want it?" Fiona whispers.

"Michael!" Madeline yells, her eyes search the loft before they land on him. She shoots him a glare before bellowing, "Get over here now!"

The look that Fiona sends his way states if looks could kill, he would be a blood stain splattered on the wall. Apparently she is still angry about earlier.

Sam rushes forward and grabs a pillow, beating the bed where the cigarette was carelessly thrown, flame slowing growing in size. A few good hits and the comforter is still smoking but no longer burning.

"Jesus, Maddy!" Sam huffs as he sees how big the smoldering black hole is that has burned through the fabric.

Michael takes a cautious step towards Fiona, feeling like he's entered a free-fire zone.

"Fiona." He reaches out his hands to cup her face and she leans back out of his reach before her eyes fill up with tears and it nearly breaks his heart. Sam and Madeline excuse themselves out to the balcony, giving the couple some illusion of privacy.

Michael's voice cracks, surprised at how easily the words come out, "I do… I do want this baby. And I want it with you." He pulls her up gently and presses her close to him. She shakes her head as if she doesn't believe him. He stops her by brushing the loose strands of hair that have fallen out of her ponytail out of her face before kissing her forehead as she stills and he wraps his arms around her, cradling her against her chest as she cries. He rubs soothing circles against the small of her back before she relaxes, wipes her eyes and says, "These damn hormones are driving me crazy."

"I haven't noticed," he grins and Fiona's breath catches in her throat as she brings her fingers up to gently trace his face, first his jaw then up to his lips which were a little swollen.

"I'm sorry," she breathes, knowing she had crossed the line when she attacked him, knowing that she had hurt him.

"It's okay, Fi." _I'm just glad you weren't armed_, he adds mentally in his head.

"Michael, how could you even think that this baby isn't yours?" Fiona sounds heartbroken and Michael hates himself for making her feel this way.

"It's just-" He begins sounding defeated, but her hand comes up covering his mouth hard enough to make him grimace.

Her eyes are wide and serious, already realizing what he was about to say, she silences him and tells him, "Michael you need to trust me. Are you listening?"

He nods slowly her hand still covering his mouth as she continues, "I would never lie to you, not about something like this. You need to learn to trust me. There's never been anyone but you. You've always been it. God knows I've tired. But I've always been drawn to you, for better or worse."

She looks at him and her eyes become a window to her soul. She removes her hand slowly from his face.

"I'm scared Michael," she says standing so close to him and all he can do is pull her closer and she buries her face into his chest.

"What's there to be-" he stops mid question, mind reeling with the endless complications and consequences they will most likely face, and slowly realizes that he too fears the situation they're in, "I know, I am too," he whispers, replying honestly as he holds her.

"And I'm tired," she complains wearily, the crying, the poor night's sleep and the lifting of the burden she's been carrying finally catching up with her.

Michael slowly turns her around, "Relax," he sighs as he feels how tense she is. She exhales softly and leans against him. He wraps his arms around her, hugging her from behind. He moves his hand across her stomach, and is surprised and delighted to find a slight roundness there and wonders how he hasn't noticed it before.

"Fi how far along are you?" He asks softly, resting his chin on her shoulder, breathing in the sweet scent of her hair.

"A little over two months, I think. I'm not sure." She smiles, enjoying the feel of his embrace and the tingle of his finger tips against her skin.

Fiona feels him stiffen, startled, "You didn't realize earlier that you were –"

She cuts him off, wiggling out of his arms causing him to miss the feel of her in his embrace, "I just found out. I've been tired lately. I didn't really become suspicious until I couldn't brush my teeth without gagging."

"Brushing with just baking soda helps with that," Madeline chimes in.

Fiona gives her a kind smile, "Thanks, I'll have to try that."

Michael's hair is still wet but drying as he runs his fingers through it. The moment makes the ends stick up, and everyone notices how tired, pale and sickly he looks. The black t-shirt he wears a direct contrast to his pale face. The sudden silence causes him to look up.

"What?" He asks the questioning gazes.

"Why don't you have a seat," Sam suggests.

He sits down heavily on the edge of the bed and slowly let's himself fall back gently.

"You feeling okay?" Sam questions him.

"Not really," he says, bringing his arm up over his face.

"I was just a little shocked that's all. I think I'm still in shock," he says, taking his other arm and laying it across his chest.

"You were shocked?" Fiona's voice rises with each word and his headache comes back with vengeance.

"We managed to be the one percent to get pregnant on birth control," Fiona blurts, before calming down seeing the way Michael rubs at his temples.

He feels her staring at him and drops his hand down to his side and stares at her unguarded.

Her face softens and her lips curl into a smile as she crawls beside him on the bed, "I've managed to spook the spook".

"Ha," he laughs disagreeably at her attempt to lighten the mood.

"You can't spook me Fiona," He says, already knowing she could see right through the lie.

"You wanna bet?" She challenges, her Irish eyes glinting along with her smile as she bends down to whisper into his ear.

She places her cheek beside his, her lips almost touching his ear, "You don't know my family all that well Michael. We have a secret," she breathes, her warm breath soft against his neck.

"A secret?" Michael whispers, and she drags out the moment. Michael finding it hard to resist the temptation to lean over and kiss her lips in full view of his mother and Sam, he begs her, "What's the secret Fi?"

"Multiples run in my family," she teases. His jaw drops at the revelation and she takes the moment to flick her tongue, licking his ear. She bursts into a fit of giggles as he squirms and squeaks in surprise.

"Fi!" He shouts and all she can do is smile.

"Fiona Glenanne!" He shouts her name once more, "Are you telling me you are pregnant with twins?"

"Oh sweet baby Jesus," Sam blurts out while Madeline's face lights up.


	12. Chapter 12

_"Fiona Glenanne!" He shouts her name once more, "Are you telling me you are pregnant with twins?"_

_"Oh sweet baby Jesus," Sam blurts out while Madeline's face lights up._

"No!" She tells him quickly, but looks uncertain, "Well…"

"Which is it now?" He says, desperately needing to know.

"I don't know. I could be. I haven't been to a doctor yet," she puffs out in a rush.

Mike takes a sigh of relief before he thinks that's another issue they're going to have to deal with. They can't just walk into a OB/GYN doctor's office and say, _I'm an ex-spy and here's my girlfriend I accidently knocked up, she's ex-IRA, in the country illegally so I need you to keep this covert while you help us with our pregnancy, _yeah that's not going to go over well.

"Well I believe that's been enough excitement for me for one day," Madeline interrupts his thoughts as Sam tugs on her arm tilting his head toward the door and for once she agrees with him that it's time to go and leave them alone to talk.

"I'm so happy for both of you! I'm going to be a grandma!" She beams, kissing them both on the cheek before moving towards the door but pausing as she remembers something.

"Oh, be sure to put the groceries up. Don't want the milk and yogurt to spoil. And Fiona, there's a box of baking soda in there as well. Also, I got you a couple of lemons and some sugar. Lemonade is great for morning sickness. I drunk it by the gallon when I was pregnant with Michael."

There's dead silence before Michael speaks, "Wait, what? Mom you already knew? How did you know she was pregnant?"

"Michael, you ought to know better by now, a woman can't share all her secrets." Realizing by the look on his face that that answer wasn't a satisfactory one she continues, "Call it a woman's intuition," that one didn't fly either so she finally explains, "Oh well alright, Fiona, the way you looked pure green last night as Sam and I ate the Thai food. I could tell the smell was bothering you by the way you wrinkled your nose. And you choose water over beer."

"Oh, Maddy, you're good, so that's why you bought all this odd stuff this morning," Sam says moving to the counter and digging through the bags and pulling out a variety of food: lemons, oranges, bananas, a jar of pickles, a jar of peanut butter, a jar of apple jelly, a loaf of bread, a bag of already popped pop corn, three variety packs of yoghurt, a pack of Gatorade, a half-gallon of milk, one box of baking soda, one box of fruit loops, a bag of sugar and two packs of cigarettes.

"Oh! Those are mine! I was wandering where that bag boy put them." Madeline catches the packs as Sam tosses them to her before placing what needed to be refrigerated into the old fridge.

"Well it looks like you forgot the beer," Sam says making his way over to Madeline, "Let's remedy that," he tells her as they make their way out.

Shooting a warning look over his shoulder to Mike and Fi before he closes the loft door, Sam tells them "You two play nice now. I mean it."

"Bye Sam." Michael and Fiona say in unison.

After they're gone, and they're finally alone, Fiona is the first to speak, "Well that wasn't exactly how I had planned on telling them."

"Oh, so you were planning on telling them?" Michael asks, a slight edge to his voice and Fiona reels from the sudden change in him and it's her turn to stare in shock as he continues, "When? After you were several hundred miles away?" He seems upset and Fi turns to face him searching for the right words to tell him, knowing she had been caught, but she had warned him, hadn't she?

"Jesus Fi, I don't want you to go," Michael pleads to her, "Please, don't run. Don't run away from this. Don't run away from me. Don't leave me," he says finally, letting her see how much she affects him.

She can feel her eyes begin to tear up again and a lump forms in her throat.

"Michael, I…" She begins but can't seem to get the words out. She brings her fingers to her mouth as the tears begin to spill down her cheeks and over her lips, "Damn it," she whispers as she's unable to stop herself from crying.

"You're the only one who's ever been able to leave me a complete mess," she accuses half-heartedly.

In one fluid motion he scoops her up into his arms, instantly knowing by the flares of pain shooting through his battered body that he's going to regret this later. However, the feeling of her cradled in his arms outweighs the pain as he sits down with her in his lap on the bed.

He reaches over and pulls the extra blanket around them both and lays them down on their sides gently. He smiles down at her as she places her hand against his chest and doesn't push away but settles in, "You may be a handful, two handfuls," he corrects himself, chuckling before telling her softly, "but you are _never_ a mess."

She wipes at her face and looks like she's about to disagree with him but instead looks seductively at him as she whispers, "I think this is how we got in trouble to begin with."

"Just rest Fi," he breathes as he shifts to make them more comfortable and he lays his head down gently beside hers.

* * *

When Fiona wakes it's to Michael leaning over her. He's dressed in a dark grey suit and dress shirt looking sharp and unfazed by yesterday and today's events. He looked perfectly normal, just like himself except for the slight discoloring bruise close to his mouth, the slight swelling of his lips and the rigid way he holds himself. The mattress dips as he sits beside her.

"I'm going out for a while. You're welcome to stay if you want to." He tells her soothingly, not trying to sway her either way wanting it to be solely her choice.

She rolls back over and snuggles deeper into the covers in response.

He pats her side through the covers, "Sleep well Fi," he says softly and leaves.


	13. Chapter 13

Closing the loft door behind him Michael pauses for a second taking in a deep breath. His facial muscles tighten as his chest burns. He slowly breathes out, imagining breathing out the pain with each breath.

Last night's rain had washed away the evidence of yesterday. The warm sun beams down upon him and he feels soothed and refreshed by the warm rays. He slides his sunglasses into place and descends the steps. His face is blank but his mind is far from it. A feeling of guilt creeps up on him as he realizes he's angry. He had awakened from his short nap angry, irrationally so. Maybe more frustrated than angry. He felt like he had to get out, so he got dressed, told her goodbye and now here he is feeling a bit out of his element and needs some time to himself before engaging in any further conversation with Fiona.

He strides up to his Charger and his lips part in mute shock before he snatches his sunglasses off to get a better look at the interior of his car. He had forgotten how much of a bloody mess he had left behind. He throws back his head and groans in frustration as he sees the blood stains have completely dried and set in. He taps his hand against the shiny black roof of the car thinking.

The padlock unclasps with ease as he opens the gate to his makeshift tool shed. His fingers nimbly rifle through a unique collection of tools before finding a dirty looking bottle containing a concoction he's used in the past. He snatches a clean rag, kicks the gate closed as he walks out and opens the passenger door and climbs in.

He soaks the cloth and dabs at the stains, knowing from previous experience they would be hell to get out. Cleaning the car leads his mind back to a weary time. Imagines of his childhood play through his mind. His hand unintentionally clenches against the dashboard.

Finished with his task, he leaves the stains to soak. He tosses the soiled rag and goes to wipe his hands in a clean towel. Resigned to the fact that he's not going to be driving anywhere in his car today he tries the handle on Fiona's car. It's unlocked and he slides in with a grin on his face as he finds her car keys are still dangling in the ignition. She must have been pretty furious with Sam to leave them in her haste.

He adjusts the seat, sliding it back to make room for his long legs and tilts the rearview mirror so he can see clearly out the back window. He glances in the mirror and sees a mountain of luggage. He ponders how one person could own so much clothing, much less pack it all in one afternoon. He realizes what an idiot he's been and how close he had come to losing her, how close she came to leaving him as he carries the suitcases up the steps, and quickly quietly and leaving it in his loft.

He steals a quick glance and sees Fiona is sleeping peacefully. He watches her for a minute before closing and locking the door. He walks the steps back down to her car a bit slower, conscious of the fact that his energy is being drained by his body needing the extra energy to heal itself. That coupled with the emotional toll on him leaves him feeling fatigued beyond what was to be expected after the exercise he just completed.

He plops down into the car and is about to crank it but thinks better of it and starts going through each potential hiding spot in the car knowing Fiona's fixation with weapons. His search proves him right and he stores the illegal guns elsewhere before turning the key and getting nothing. He pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket. As he calls Sam he lays his head against the headrest and wonders if he's letting himself get too distracted if he forgets simple things like spark plugs.

"Hey Mike," Sam answers.

"Hey Sam. Where did you put Fi's spark plugs?"

There's a pregnant pause before Sam replies, "Crap Mike. They're still in my pocket."

"That's okay. I think I may have some lying around here. Somewhere," Michael says opening the car door and looking through a different tool drawer this time.

"Hey Sam, is my mom still with you?" He asks, placing the phone between his shoulder and his ear, freeing his hands to open the box he was looking for and shakes out a few spark plugs.

"No, we split ways a while ago." Sam says and Michael listens.

"Why?" Sam asks curious. Michael doesn't answer. Coming to his own conclusions Sam tells him, "You should go see her Mike."

* * *

Michael parks the car beside the garage and bursts soundlessly through the back door gliding through the kitchen. He nearly makes it to the dining table before she calls out his name.

"Michael!" His mom yells cheerfully. His back stiffens as he halts feeling like a teenager sneaking in after curfew. Even after all these years she can make him feel twelve years old again.

He turns his head slowly, sliding a smile onto his face as he did so. His face softens as he sees her on the couch a box sitting beside her, surrounded by photographs. She reaches over and flicks her cigarette over the ash tray and beams at him, holding out a picture to him with her other hand. He takes it but looks to her first.

"You were eighteen months old and adorable." She says softly and he finally looks down at the picture in his hand. A blue eyed baby sitting in a clothes basket stared back at him with a toothy grin and black curly hair.

Madeline takes a drag and puffs out a tiny cloud of smoke smiling. "You had the prettiest little curls. I cried like a baby the day Frank made me cut them off. He said no son of mine is going to look like a girl." She says stubbing out the end of her cigarette before standing.

She sees the effect her story has on her son but she hasn't finished telling it yet. She snatches him by the arm, stopping him from leaving and continues, telling him, "What he didn't tell me then was that when he was little he was teased for his curly hair. He was just trying to protect you." Michael doesn't look at her but she can tell he got the message.

"Why are you telling me this?" he asks her.

"Why are you here?" His mother answers his question with a question.

"You're going to be a father. Sacrifices are going to have to be made to protect the ones that you love." Madeline lets the thinly veiled warning sink into her son. She pats his arm and lets him go.

He walks out the back door but catches his hand on it and lingers for a moment calling out, "Ma!"

"Yes, Michael?" She answers patiently.

"Where do I shop for a baby?" He asks softly.

"Where do people normally shop for anything Michael?" His mother asks with a taste of condescend.

"The mall?" He asks but already knowing the answer to his question but still half way hoping she'd have a different answer for him.

"Of course," she exclaims, lighting up a fresh cigarette.

"Of course," Michael sighs and closes the door.

"Thanks Ma!" He shouts through the door as an afterthought on his way to the car.

"You're welcome Michael!" Madeline shouts back laughing to herself as she digs through more of Michael's baby pictures.


	14. Chapter 14

On his way to the mall, Michael places another call. "Sam, can you get me a number?"

"Sure brother, what do you need?" Sam must be having himself a drink Michael figures as he hears a clink of a bottle being set down. Michael relays the information he wants. He thanks Sam and hangs up as he parks the car.

He steps out and straightens his jacket, happy, feeling he's making some ground on his quest to get his house in order, metaphorically speaking. If there was one thing Michael Westen is great at its planning. Planning allows him to figure things out, complete seemingly impossible tasks, stay alive.

He walks determinedly with a purpose through the crowd of shoppers. Being a spy, you become a people watcher by trade. In the span of a couple of minutes Michael deduces he's headed in the right direction based upon the increasing number of stroller riddled shoppers and sounds of high pitched crying.

He pushes through the door to the baby store to escape the incessant wails. The door chimes as he steps inside and he quickly assesses his surroundings. His eyes are assaulted by vibrant color which seemed to seep into his being. He glances down at his grey suit as he pulls his sunglasses off, sliding them into his inner coat pocket.

The grey makes him stand out but he realizes that he would have stood out anyway being a man in a sea of women and a whirl of children ranging from toddlers to the yet to be born.

He feels the urge to back peddling out of the store as he the chill of panic sets in. It had accompanied the rising knowledge of how much it's going to take to raise a child.

A sales assistant lithely comes to stand beside him. She greets him warmly with a smile and a quick wit, "First timer, eh?" He gives her a pleasant smile, turning on his charm but still wondering if he was truly that easy to read.

"Yes," he replies and resists the urge to roll his eyes as her face lights up in excitement but instead lets her lead him over to a section of the store that seemed to be dedicated to newborns.

"Do you have anything in particular in mind?" Did he? Well no, not really, he hadn't actually thought this far, being inexperienced in this area he didn't know what to expect and he was growing more uncomfortable by the second. He decides to let this overly excited sales woman help him.

"I'm looking for a gift for my… wife. We don't know yet if it's going to be a boy or a girl." He swiftly tells her not having to try hard to play the part of a nervously shy soon to be father.

The sales lady looks delighted and quickly moves around pointing out different collections of outfits. She stops and holds up two outfits one in each hand and asks him what he thinks. He scratches his head and inspects the tiny outfits. He shrugs, "Maybe something a little simpler."

"Ah, here we go," she croons gliding over to show Michael several sets of onsies. She looks over them quickly before snatching one pack up, "Here, try these."

At that moment his cell phone begins ringing and he looks at her apologetically as he excuses himself pulling the cell phone out of his jacket. He thanks the sales associate as she laid out the best the store had on display for him, and then leaves giving him privacy as he takes the call.

He hesitates a second as he sees who's calling. Cursing under his breath he flips open his phone answering the call.

"Hi Fi, how was your nap?" Michael greets in a mock cheery tone. He had been hoping she would have slept longer and that he would have been back before she woke and her being none the wiser.

"Michael. Why is my luggage in your loft? I'm not staying here." Fiona quickly informs him as she sees her luggage lined up against the wall.

"I know Fi," he says carefully and realizes a part of him had wanted her to stay and he finds himself disappointed that she's not.

"I just put them there so I could drive your car without looking like a traveling tourist. And I thought you might–" want fresh clothes he finishes in his head mentally as she interrupts him.

"You took my car?" She sounds annoyed apparently she didn't wake up in a pleasant mood either.

"The Charger needs some… detailing," he amends knowing overly curious ears are listening in on his conversation as he feels someone watching him.

"You know I shoot thieves," Fiona warns crouching down and knocking over her suitcase so she can open it.

The smile slides off Michael's face as he hears the sound of a zipper being unzipped followed by a gun being cocked. He knew he should have checked her baggage for weapons. Now he'd have to be extra careful when he sees her, she's armed and hormonal. However, both were his fault so he can't blame anyone but himself if she shoots him the next time he comes home. Home, did he really think of the sorry excuse for a place to stay as a home? Or is his home something less cold and barren a person, Fiona. The thought throws him for a second and a longing to be closer to her pushes him to the question spilling from his lips.

"I was thinking we could go out to lunch later if you'd like?" He asks pleasantly, easily changing the subject.

A distinct click is heard and he pulls the phone away from his ear and he looks at it. She had hung up on him. He sighs, well so much for that idea.

* * *

Fiona holds her cell phone in her hand. She hadn't meant to hang on him, not really anyway. She just couldn't figure him out much less her feelings towards him. When she had awoken to see her belongings in his place she had panicked. Did he think she should move in with him? In this place? No. She wasn't ready for that that domesticated life, that wasn't them.

She absentmindedly digs through her suit case pulling out a clean outfit. What's a girl to do? He hadn't asked for this. She hadn't even asked for this. But it wasn't an entirely unpleasant situation at least not for her. She had always wanted a baby. She just never imagined actually getting one, not in her line of work, lifestyle or taste in men.

Michael had told her he wanted this baby but did he mean it? Did he really know? Was he just saying those things to her to appease her? It's not like he hasn't done it before. She doesn't know what to think as she slides out of her clothes leaving a trail leading to the bathroom. A hot shower will help to clear her head.

* * *

He snaps the phone close and replaces it in his pocket turning slowly to get a look at his watcher. His gaze locks onto not one but two young women who he has caught unabashedly eyeing him. He grins softly, a faint blush coloring his face and creeping down his neck as he turns back around and ponders which tiny outfit to buy.

Giving his best fake smile to the curious onlookers he grabs a set of onesies finally making up his mind. He tactically maneuvers around strollers and round hangers full of children's clothing on his way to check out.

He slows down in front of a wire storage bin full of stuffed animals. He picks out a cuddly looking alligator and heads for the checkout counter but makes another detour.

He glances at the titles of the books, most seemed to be children's stories. He picks one up, it's thick and is filled front to back with classic bedtime stories. He tucks it under his arm. He walks to the other side and a book catches his eye. He grabs this one too and finally comes to stand before the cashier.

He smiles, showing his teeth as he lays down the merchandise. He pauses for a second before holding up a finger telling the cashier to wait a moment. "One second," he tells her and quickly rushes back to the bookshelf and pulls off a second copy of the same book.

"Okay, I'm ready," he says setting it down. The cashier scans the barcode on the book and smiles reading the title, it read _What To Expect When Expecting_. No surprise, he wanted to know what he was in store for. He needed some study materials.


	15. Chapter 15

Walking to Fiona's car he comes out of his suit jacket and tosses it in the trunk along with the shopping bag. The midday sun is warm but not too unbearably so but he's still grateful Fiona's car has air condition unlike the old Charger.

He dials her cell phone number, after several rings it goes to voicemail and he sighs, hanging up. She always took his calls.

He cautiously opens the door to the loft and peers inside. Not seeing Fiona he relaxes but feels a cold splash of disappointment as he walks into the empty building.

He shuts the door but freezes as he sees a red dot from a laser floating on the metal door. It snakes its way very slowly from the lock to a few inches from his head. He turns around slowly and sees Fiona perched on his desk upstairs, her sniper rifle trained on him.

"Bang," she says smoothly and flicks off the laser and stands the gun up. He cocks his head to the side and folds his arms over his chest not amused. She smiles pleased with herself and slowly makes her way down the steps.

"So you're not answering my phone calls now?" He asks watching her. She has changed into a tight fitting royal blue dress and she's fixed her hair, it hangs in loose curls that fall past her shoulders. She looks absolutely stunning.

She brushes past, ignoring him and grabs her cell phone off the table next to the bed and drops it into a blue clutch. She sits in the green chair and slides on a pair of matching strappy high heeled wedges and stands up.

"Ready to go?" She asks him sliding a pair of large white sunglasses onto her face.

Recovering quickly from her change in mood he goes to hold the door open for her and follows her out. She calls back to him, "Don't forget my suitcase. The big one!" He gives her a look but doesn't question her, only goes back in and picks up the heavy piece of luggage. By the time he gets it into the trunk she's already in the car.

"You're driving," she says fixing her seatbelt in the passenger seat and opening her purse and pulling out her lipstick, taking the time as he drives to finish applying her makeup.

"Where would you like to go?" He asks cranking the car and pulling out into the street.

A twenty minute drive later and he finds himself sitting at a round table with a white table cloth and a freshly cut flower center piece overlooking the Atlantic Ocean. They are seated beside a huge window in the cool comfort of the air conditioner but they can hear the sounds of the ocean coming from the open patio deck that adjoins this section of the waterfront restaurant.

Fiona is hidden behind her menu and Michael sips iced water out of a fancy glass wondering what was going on in that pretty head of hers. She hadn't said a word to him the whole ride over here except to give him directions to the restaurant.

"Stop staring," Fiona orders not moving the menu away from her face. Michael tilts his head and just smiles at her exasperated tone. He knew she was enjoying herself even if she didn't want to admit it.

He reaches across the table and knocks the menu down so he can see her face. The tiny smirking smile that he receives instead of a glare is all he needs to know that he's doing something right.

"So is this a date?" He asks causally looking around at the nice restaurant before his eyes settle on her.

"Do you want it to be?" She questions, testing him, leaning back in her chair waiting on him to make the next move.

He lays his arm across the table, his palm up in invitation. She hesitates for a second before sliding her smaller hand into his.

His thumb traces over her fingers before he spreads his own and laces them around hers, locking them tight, securing him and her together.

His stomach growls loudly interrupting the moment and she chuckles at him before biting her lip.

A waiter comes over then and Fiona smiles up at him pulling her hand out of Michael's.

"Just in time. I'll have the special with the steamed vegetables." She tells him, enjoying the way the waiter is looking at her.

"And I'll have the filet minion, medium well with mashed potatoes and the steamed vegetables as well," Michael says louder than needed with a slight coolness to his tone which gets the waiter's attention on him and away from Fiona.

"Yes, sir," The young waiter says somewhat fearfully and scurries away to put their order in. Michael sees Fiona smirking at him knowing he was jealous, he narrows his eyes playfully at her and her smirk softens to a brilliant smile.

"Don't scare him Michael. At least wait until he brings our food first," she grins, a twinkle in her eye, enjoying this side of him.

He shifts, turning around in his chair watching as the waiter disappears into the kitchen.

"No, we couldn't have that now." He says, turning back around, a small smile lighting his face as he leans forward inches from her face. His eyes don't leave her face as he leans forward propping his arms on the table and captures her hands in his own. She stares at his mouth before her eyes flick up to look into his intense blue eyes, loving the way they crinkle around the edges when he genuinely smiles.

She closes the distance between them. Her lips are soft against his but they pull away all too soon.

"What?" He whispers wondering why she stopped.

"Does it hurt?" She asks softly and he's surprised at her tenderness. His fingers go to up to his lips, and he imagines how they must look, lip still swollen slightly and corner of his mouth lightly bruised.

"No," he lies and captures her lips between his. He goes slowly at first, the tip of his tongue asking permission into her mouth before exploring further. She tilts her head to the side letting him deepen the kiss and smiles against his mouth as she discovers he tastes sweet. She's warm, and tastes tangy with a hint of citrus that makes him crave more of her. His hand trails lightly up and down her arm. He can feel her foot rubbing lightly against his leg under the table, slowly moving upwards. "Fiona," his eyes open as he breathes out the warning, breaking away watching amused as she rolls her eyes and tells him, "You're no fun Michael," as she pulls away.


	16. Chapter 16

**Author's Note: Edited verision of Chapter 16. **

* * *

The waiter shows up then with their food. He quickly sets the plates down not daring to look either of them in the eyes. "Thank you," Fiona tells him sweetly and only then does he look up at her, "You're welcome." He glances at Michael checking with him making sure he hasn't crossed some unspoken boundary. Seeing something that upsets him, he quickly hurries away.

Fiona gives Michael a look and he defends himself, "What? I didn't do anything." She smiles innocently and pulls out her compact mirror and hands it to him. "What?" He asks taking it and she taps her finger against her lips and Michael takes the cue and looks at himself in the tiny mirror. Seeing the smeared lipstick on his face he scowls and wipes his mouth with the white cloth napkin.

Fiona takes a bite of her food and sighs in pleasure, "This is delicious." Michael begins cutting up his steak. Fiona giggles when he stabs a piece and eats it off the end of his knife. "So dangerous," she teases before sliding her chair closer to his and reaching over she steals a fork full of his mashed potatoes. He watches her lick them off the fork.

* * *

They are over half-way through their lunch and they haven't said anything of real substance. Michael drags his fork through his dessert and pushes what's left of the delicacy around aimlessly. He flicks his gaze up from his plate to her face and finds her staring at him. Their eyes lock for a second before she looks away pretending to stare at the ocean but he could tell her thoughts were elsewhere. He shoves a forkful of his dessert into his mouth. The earlier light heartedness had dissipated and they were left quiet and awkward until finally Fiona couldn't seem to take any anymore.

"Michael I…" She starts softly but stops when she notices he has a little bit of whipped cream and chocolate on the side of his mouth. He stretches his arm out to her across the table and lays his hand on top of hers. She shifts closer to him and his fingers enclose her wrist in a firm grip not allowing her to escape. That's okay she wasn't planning on running anytime soon as she flicks her tongue over his lips before fully licking the side of his face causing him to let out a sweet strangled laugh. She reveals in the sound he makes.

"Fi. Fi stop!" He cries out with a slight laugh trying to hide the fact that simple act of laughing makes his chest burn.

Someone clears their throat interrupting them and Michael realizing it's their waiter with their ticket gives him a cold stare.

"You ready to go?" He asks as the waiter walks away.

"Yeah." She breathes out and stands up.

Michael stands and tosses his napkin to the table and reaches for his wallet. He looks at the bill and then back again to his wallet finding that he's short a few bills. Fiona huffs and opens her clutch and helps him out. He kisses her on the cheek in thanks and they leave with his arm around her waist, holding her close to his side.

* * *

Michael's curiosity gets the best of him and he questions Fiona who is currently driving, "So, do you want to tell me where we're going?"

"We're almost there," she replies elusively.


	17. Chapter 17

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**Author's Note: I'm so sorry for the long delay. However, you should be thanking WIWJ for this chapter. Without her advice and her generous help in editing this chapter, this story might have been a casualty. Thank you so much!**

* * *

Michael's chest keeps heaving long after they'd broken apart but his head is remarkably clear.

Fiona bites at her lip, her fingers squeezing and releasing his methodically slow as he reaches into the car to help her out.

He stops at the curb, taking his time tucking his shirt back into his pants, composing himself. His fingers brush over the edges of his bandage and he ignores the way his stomach clenches. If Fi notices she doesn't let on, pulling him towards the door to the bed and breakfast.

Fiona lets go to pay the attendant and Michael leans against the table, watching her loopy script and grinning at the name she chooses. Their eyes lock and she grins at his amusement.

"McBride?" His voice rumbles out at her and she turns back towards the car.

"I thought it had a nice ring to it." She sings. Her face is still flushed and for a second he imagines pining her against the stairs. He squints at her when she opens the front door and walks back to the car and grabs two bags from the trunk.

"When did I pack a bag?" He asks her playfully taking his black Kevlar from her.

"I may have packed it for you this morning." She's still looking down, but he can see the raised edge of her grin. "Park the car will you?" She dangles the keys from her finger until he snatches them from her. "I'll meet you upstairs."

"You were barely speaking to me this morning." He calls after her, shaking his head.

"So? When's that ever stopped us?" She looks back at him innocently before slipping through the door.

"She planned this." He muttered to himself, looking back to close the trunk. "I'm worried she's about to leave me and she's packing overnight bags." His eyes catch the shine of his shopping bag, he grabs it too before slamming the trunk and heading back towards the room. Michael grunts, adjusting the bags around himself and trying the door. "And of course she locked the door."

"Fi." He calls fumbling again with the bags, sending them crashing into the door.

"Who is it?" Fiona calls out teasingly.

"Open the door." He hissed.

The door swung back and Fiona's arm jetted out and grasped the front of his shirt tugging him inside. The luggage thudded to the ground with a clatter as he pressed his lips against hers. Michael's fingers slid up and down the silky material of her dress before grabbing the hem and tugging it over her head. He backs her towards the bed until she dropped onto the mattress.

Westen's breath is quick again when he looks at her, watching her deft fingers work at the buttons of his shirt until she can push it down his shoulders. She fumbles with his belt and he covers her hands with his yanking it free and dropping it to the floor without looking away from her.

She unbuttons his pants and he fights against the sudden rush of heat that shoots through him when they slide to the floor. He drops his head against her shoulder, his hands sliding up and down her arms. He turns his face into her neck and pressed his mouth to it. They melt into each other, skin to skin, she tangles her legs around his, hanging on for dear life afraid to let him go.

She moves her body closer until he has all of their weight, ignoring how he stumbles forward when she does. She's too far gone to think of anything but this, she grasps his hips and yanks him towards her.

He hisses as the searing pain radiates up his spine. His body tenses instantly, his hands clamping tighter on her upper arms. Michael's forehead lifts to her cheek and it's only then that she allows herself to consider that the clammy dampness there is not from passion. Her fingers splay against his waist gingerly, holding him up as he struggles to breathe against the spasm of his chest.

Fiona freezes, slowing her own breathing as if she can breathe for him. He grunts pulling his face up parallel with hers, before weakly dropping against her forehead. The minute it takes him to relax feels like ten as he finally swallows against the bile in the back of his throat and pries his eyes open.

The look on her face almost hurts as much as the pain she didn't mean to cause him. He places the palm of his hand soothingly against her cheek.

"I'm okay." He pants as she blinks away the tears that want to leak from her eyes and her chin trembles as she breathes out a breath.

"I'm sorry." She whispers as he lifts his arm away and lets her escape. She walks a few steps away before he pulls a quilt from the edge of the bed and drapes it over her shoulder. "I got carried away." He put his hands on her shoulders, laying a kiss on the top of her head. "I forgot you almost died two days ago."

"Fi, what are we doing?" He exhaled, moving back to the bed and sinking down on it. She turned to look at him, a weak smile on her lips when she realizes how pitiful he really looks, sweaty and battered sitting on the bed in his boxers.

"What we always do when we argue." She whispered, reaching her hand to stroke the side of his pale face. Michael reached for the other arm, tugging her to him. "Have sex and forget about it."

"We need to talk. Really talk." He whispered, his eyes clicking up to hers.

"We're so not good-." Her head shakes as she whispers until he takes her hand in his, slipping inside the quilt and laying them over her abdomen.

"We better get good at it." He whispers carefully, a small smile upon his lips. She watches his thumbs trace against the bare skin beneath her belly button before lifting her eyes to his.

She nods at him, swallowing against the tightness of her throat. Michael tugged her onto her lap, resting against her shoulder as she adjusted the blanket around them both. Holds her closer, focusing on the calm even movements of her breathing, wondering where to start. His eyes settle on one of the objects on the floor.

"I got you something." He breathes, standing up slowly as she moved off of him. She watches him carefully as he reaches down and fishes the bag from the pile and sticking it out to her.

"I didn't-. We don't know what it is so-." He moves his hand in a circle before pointing to her body again as she pulled out the onesies. "I got green and yellow." She stares at the package. "They've got animals and stuff. I was iffy on the green but it's light, so if it's a girl-."

"Michael…" She smiles and he lets out the breath he had been holding and sits beside her on the bed. He comes to sit beside her, watching her look at the little set of clothes.

"You like them?" He watches her smooth her hand over the fuzzy alligator, before dropping it to her lap and turning towards him and nodding slowly before leaning in and carefully kissing him. She lifts the baby books out with a smile.

"Research materials." He tells her softly.

"When did you have time to-?" Her voice trails off when she sees the expression on his face. She presses her fingertips against the wrinkles between his eyes before letting them drop back to the stuffed animal. He swallows, licking his lips and gathering his words.

"I wanted to show you-. I needed a way to tell you that-." He covered her hand with his. "I'm in this with you."

"Are you?" She whispers through her barely opened mouth.

Michael's head nodded painstakingly slowly.

"I'm in." He promised, his lips twitching as hers broke into a tiny grin.


End file.
